


Taken All Together

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Annual drarryville smut, Glitter, M/M, Multi, Past Relationship(s), Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Harry Potter, Professor Neville Longbottom, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: There is a story that Harry isn't telling Draco. And it seems to involve Neville Longbottom. And he is going to get to the very bottom of it. Because, frankly, Neville is quite fit these days and Draco has some suspicions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started as a collection of collaborated sentences gathered from Tumblr followers. Smut to follow.

There was a story within the walls of the Hogwarts, new and yet treated like it was ancient. It was murmured amongst the students, passed in whispers between the staff, and rumoured to have been spread so deeply among the House Elves that it would be passed on for generations. The ghosts didn’t like to talk about it since it often created uncomfortable dividing lines between them. Apparently, the story required you to land on someone’s side, and that made the ghosts — infamous for allegiance to themselves and themselves alone — uncomfortable.

When he returned to the school to take up his temporary post of Alchemy Professor, Draco was warned by every member of the junior staff to never, ever bring up the story.

The story of why Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter no longer spoke was, for all intents and purposes, strictly taboo.

At first, Draco just nodded and accepted the odd pieces of information. He was hardly one to broker peace, given that both men had collectively been teaching at Hogwarts for nearly a decade. He did find it strange to see the two Gryffindor’s so estranged, but he figured he’d get more information before he spoke.

He observed for a week, carefully collecting anecdotal evidence. He quickly realised the story he’d been told was not exaggerated. He watched as the two professors would turn the opposite direction in the corridor to avoid walking past each other. They would sit at opposite ends of the staff table in the dining hall. Longbottom would rarely leave the greenhouses before dusk, and would always look around fervently before returning to his second-floor quarters.

In other circumstances, Draco likely would have found this quite hilarious; in school, for example, such a display of in-house fighting would have been the perfect fodder for Slytherin dorm betting pools and mockery.

The unfortunate reality now, however, was that it was impacting Draco’s currently limited social life, and he was very much Not Okay with it. Largely because it was extremely problematic to have your boyfriend locked in a silent battle with one of the few other people their own age within a hundred-mile radius.

Finally, nearly a month into the term, his feet fully wet and his confidence restored, Draco decided he had enough evidence to confront Harry. He waited until they were in bed; he figured that if it went extremely sour, he would at least have a way to distract him from bodily harm.

“Harry, darling,” he began quietly. “I’ve, um...I’ve noticed that you and Longbottom seem to be—”

Harry immediately stiffened at his side and huffed out a breath. “Listen, mate, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”

“Mate,” Draco repeated, deadpan. “_Mate_.”

Harry just fixed him with a steely-eyed stare, challenge in the stiffness of his every muscle. Draco sighed.

“Didn’t you two used to be, I don’t know, friends or whatever? You must know the rumours that swirl about the place about you two,” Draco expounded, ignoring the tightness in Harry’s jaw and blazing forward, borrowing a line from the Gryffindor sensibility that he had begrudgingly admired for a long time. “I just thought we were at the point where...you can tell me this stuff, and everything. Surely, we’ve moved past the awkward half-truths stage.”

Harry softened slightly and rolled onto his back. “You know we have,” he replied gently. “This is... just complicated.”

“Ah, yes, because the rest of our relationship has been founded on utter simplicity and clear black-and-white lines.”

Harry laughed. “Except for the time Hermione hexed you six months ago.”

“The only notable exception,” Draco replied dryly.

Harry rolled back over to face him, resting on his arm. “I want to tell you. But. Well, okay, don’t take this the wrong way but you tend to get a bit...jealous.”

“Jealous.”

“Sometimes. It’s adorable. Usually.” Harry looked very worried for a moment. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to be one of those times when it’s adorable.”

Draco took a deep breath. “Listen, Harry, my lovely. We are...older than I like to admit. I think we can handle the fact that we both come from a place in the past. And trust me, the real story can’t be as dramatic as the rumours…”

Harry chuckled. “Oh. You’d be surprised. Fine, I’ll tell you. Just...not tonight.”

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” Draco said, sickly sweet. “I love you so much I want to punch you in the face.”

Harry laughed a little too loudly, and Draco retaliated with a pillow to his face. When they eventually fell asleep, Draco had only just forgotten what had gotten them into this line of conversation.

* * *

_Five Years Earlier_

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re going to find what we’re looking for here,” Harry teased, poking the last shelf to their left and giggling to himself as the very realistic dildos that were housed there wiggled and shook.

“I told Hannah that I wasn’t going to be good at this,” Neville insisted, turning an impressive shade of beet red and dropping his head into his hands.

“Relax, Nev,” Harry insisted, grabbing him by both shoulders and steering him out of the shop. “We just need one that’s a little more party shop and a little less orgy.” Harry smiled apologetically at the scowl his statement produced from the very pretty punk girl at the cash. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added hastily with a wink.

“Harry, this is a disaster. I don’t think you understand how much I am hating everything right now.”

“Neville,” Harry laughed. “Mate. I grew up in a dorm with you. I know exactly how much pain this is causing you. I’m just also finding it hilarious.”

“That’s because you suck.”

“Only when asked,” he teased, winking at Neville without meaning too. Sometimes, when he was in this mood, the winking got a bit out of control. Neville shot him an interesting look; part glower, part...something else. If he didn’t know better, if it weren’t Neville, he’d assume it was interest

They walked down the highstreet silently for a moment before Harry cleared his throat.

“Nev,” he said hesitantly. “Erm, you…you’re not...having second thoughts or anything are you?”

Neville did not immediately reply. Harry froze in the middle of the street, stopping an elderly couple behind him who tisked loudly.

“Neville,” he urged.

“I...not second thoughts, nothing that...dramatic. I just. Harry, do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“What? Of course not, we love Hannah.”

Neville nodded. “Yeah, no, I know. That’s...that’s not what I mean.”

“I know,” Harry said gently. “I...maintain my previous offer, you know. If you want to...check. If it would help. If you need it to just be…a thing you check.”

Neville opened his mouth to speak, closed it again a moment later. Harry decided that maybe, what they both needed, was just action. It was only much later that he would reconsider his decision, here on this high street in Edinburgh, hoping that he wasn’t about to lose his favourite co-worker and a very good friend.

He stepped forward, took Neville’s hand in his own, pulled him off to the side of the walkway. He pressed them both into the wall, took the chance afforded to him by Neville’s furtive glance around to the crowds nearby. He pressed his lips to Neville’s, carefully. Gently. He waited to be pushed away. Instead, he was drawn closer, a free hand weaving into his hair, a clasped one gripping desperately.

“Yeah,” Neville said a moment later, his eyes closing tightly. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.”

“Neville,” Harry started. “Neville, it’s nothing. We can forget it ever happened.” Neville just stared at him, pleading in his eyes. Harry backtracked. “Or...or we can just check.”

“Just,” Neville whispered. “Harry, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but please, just... get away from me, I need a break for all this, I just... please leave.”

Harry nodded once and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay,” Draco said slowly, putting down his fork from the breakfast he’d forced Harry to have in the room. “So, you kissed him. Right before his wedding. And he didn’t take that well? No offence, but letting that turn into a five-year grudge makes you sound a little bit like my father.”  
  
Harry smirked. “First of all, you take that the fuck back. And second of all, I’m not done, idiot. But, you have a class in half an hour and I am supposed to be in London today for Rose’s concert. The rest will have to wait.”  
  
“Are you _ kidding _ me, you great bloody tease?” Draco called at his back as he stood to return to his own room and get dressed for the day.  
  
“Oh, I can do you one better,” Harry said, paused at the door. “Think about it, Draco. Is Neville currently married?”  
  
Draco arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Exactly,” Harry said sadly, leaving the room with a small wave behind him. 

* * *

“So, let me get this straight,” Hermione hissed, rubbing her temples and leaning over her tea mug. “_ You’re _ the reason Neville has called off the wedding?”  
  
“No!” Harry shouted. “No.”  
  
“Harry—”  
  
“Hermione, I’m not. He’s been...there’s been so much doubt in his decision this year, and he just...I think, frankly, that we were always headed here. Isn’t it better that it’s happening _ before _ they’re married?”  
  
“Not if it’s because you’ve fucked around with his emotions!” she replied sternly. “Harry, I love you, but you haven’t exactly had the best track record for relationships lately.”  
  
“All I did was kiss him,” Harry responded miserably. 

“That’s not what Hannah said,” she returned. “Hannah says you propositioned him, got all dejected when he refused you, and now Neville is a wreck, confused and questioning everything. That doesn’t sound like just a kiss.”  
  
Against his will, the corners of Harry’s mouth turned up, and Hermione — who never missed anything, ever — hit him across the head with the tea cosy.  
  
“You horrible brat. You _ did _ proposition him?”  
  
“Ow,” he said sheepishly. “Fine. Maybe a little? But only because...Hermione, you didn’t see this kiss.”  
  
“Harry,” she sighed. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Neville, even if he is questioning his sexuality or his marriage or whatever, is _ Neville _ . You aren’t allowed to hurt him. You have to stop.”  
  
He glared at her. “He didn’t love her. Anyone could see that. It doesn’t have to be my fault.”  
  
“He turned you down, though. So now it _ is _ your fault, and also, you have to let it go.”  
  
“Sure,” Harry answered, nonchalantly.  
  
“Oh, god. Harry, what did you do?”  
  
He let a small, lecherous smile cross his mouth, knowing he was going to get another whack and not caring in the slightest. The memory of Neville’s shocked expression, the red that crept up his neck, the staggering away and the promise in even that simple action.  
  
“Not exactly what I _ did _ ,” Harry admitted to Hermione, tracing a finger along a knot in the wooden table. “More like, what I said.”  
  
Deep down, in his stomach, chest, groin, his body demanded the return of the phrase he explained to Hermione now.

_ Eventually, you're going to have to give in, _ he’d said to Neville on that high street, the sinful drip to his voice only partly voluntary. _ And when that day comes, you'd better believe I'll be here to see it. _

* * *

Draco was leaning on the edge of the door in Hermione and Ron’s kitchen, technically, under the guise of ‘drying dishes’. He had the towel flung over his shoulder and everything. But since he’d just been throwing a spell at all the dishes Harry held up with his own wand, they’d settled into their current positions instead. Harry was perched on the countertop, avoiding Draco’s gaze.  
  
“Okay, so you broke up their engagement. That’s...worse, I suppose,” Draco said generously. “Still, five _ years _ ? That’s a long-ass time to be mad when ultimately—”  
  
“Draco. Not. Done.” Harry sighed. 

* * *

The term had been in full swing for a week, and Harry hadn’t seen Neville for more than five minutes the entire time. It was obvious that he was being avoided. And for some reason, Harry was extremely mad about it. Finally, on the eve of the first weekend of the school year, Harry marched himself down to greenhouse three and flung open the door. 

“Merlin!” a voice called from within. “Sh—uut the door! Excuse me, can you not _ read _ !”  
  
Harry froze, mid-step, with the door still open, and stared around him; there were a million tiny motes all around him, whirling and buzzing, begging him to stare at them. Neville rushed passed him, sleeves of a dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and ridiculous goggles pushed up on top of his head. He reached out behind Harry to yank the door shut, whirling around again with fury in his every pore.  
  
“Harry, what the actual fuck are you doing! The sign on the door is HUGE! Do. Not. Open,” Neville shouted. “I can not believe you...your selfishness really knows no bounds, does it?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Neville raised a quelling hand and looked around them both, hands on his head in utter dismay. “Don’t speak!” he shouted. “How could you have spilt it _ everywhere _! How?!” 

Again, Harry tried to answer these rhetorical questions, but Neville leapt forward and threw a hand over his mouth. “Don’t. Speak,” he said slowly. “They’ll attune to you.”  
  
There was a moment, a split second of time, standing in the motes, when Harry felt the dam break, when the distance between their friendship closed. There was a moment when Harry knew things were irreparable, and yet perfect. When three years of being coworkers, sharing meals and laughing, drunken nights of confession and apology, when the fact that there was just sheer mutual attraction took over and broke through the mess they’d both created.   
  
Harry reached up and took Neville’s hand from his mouth. He didn’t speak, kissed the back of the hand that had stopped him instead. Suddenly, there was a workbench behind his back that Harry was hoisting himself up onto. Suddenly, he was grasping at hair and pulling at a shirt that he managed to remove. Neville was dragging Harry’s chest into his own and shoving hands down the back of his trousers, and all the while, their mouths remained silently attached. 

At some point, they ended up on the floor, naked and spent, though Harry honestly couldn’t say at one point they’d left the workbench behind. For a few minutes, Neville lay beside him, silently breathing hard and collapsed on Harry’s robes. Harry reached up and waved a hand through the motes above him. They were beautiful, shining and minute, emanating from a large bottle that lay upturned beside the door.

“Wait,” Neville said, reaching up to grab the bottle and cork it again. The remaining motes floated listlessly, almost effervescent and luminous as they whirled around Harry’s outstretched arm. He turned to ask about them and found Neville’s face panicked and serious.  
  
“Don’t say anything, I’m serious,” Neville murmured, grabbing his arm and pushing it down. “I’ve been trying to tell you about it. They’re spores. _ Mangliam _ _ Herodotus. _ Only, mutated. If you talk around them, they imprint on you and…” Neville waved around him vaguely. He inhaled deeply and trailed off. “Yeah,” Neville added with a sheepish grin. “I understand _what _ it is. I just don't understand why it's _ sparkly _ . Come on. We need to talk. Not here. Let’s get inside.”   
  
Harry smiled again, pulled himself up and threw his shirt at him as he pulled on his robes. He moved as slinkily as he could manage out of the greenhouse, glowing when Neville followed him. He pushed Neville back into the greenhouse wall and kissed him deeply.  
  
“Harry,” Neville protested, suddenly sober and somehow in distress. “You have to stop. You don’t...you don’t actually want to do this.”  
  
“What?” Harry smirked. “I’m pretty sure I already _ did _ do this.”  
  
“It’s the spores,” Neville blurted loudly. Harry looked at him in the dim light, puzzled.  
  
“What?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. They’re...addicting. Or at least, they have some sort of… lust property. You and I, we were never meant to actually _ happen _ , but then, I told you about the whole ‘I’m bi’ thing, and you came down to tell me that Hannah and I were a good decision regardless, but the spores had already attuned to me. When you breathed them in that day last month, you...well, regardless, you don’t actually want me.”  
  
“Neville,” Harry teased. “You don’t get to tell me what I want.”  
  
Neville sighed, looking pained. “No, I’m serious. You don’t. Come on. I have to get you to the hospital wing. McGonagall's going to _ kill _ me.” 

* * *

  
“Wait. A love potion?” Draco interrupted, deadpan.  
  
“Love spores, actually.”  
  
“Love spores.”  
  
“Trust me. I know how it sounds.”  
  
“Oh, no, Potter, I really don’t think you do,” Draco teased. “So, for five years, you have avoided Neville Longbottom because you fucked him in the greenhouses. Because of _ love spores. _ ”  
  
“Yup,” Harry replied, unapologetically. “If we speak, we sleep together. It’s...so complicated, I don’t even...look, I meant to tell you, okay? In my defence, I seriously meant to tell you before you started at the school. But we were so happy, and you’re so...you. I just didn’t get around to it.”  
  
Draco stared at Harry, who was still expertly avoiding the gaze, still balanced carefully on the kitchen counter of his best friends’ kitchen. 

“Did you think I _ wasn’t _ going to notice that you avoided the only other fit man in the entire building.”  
  
“You think...Neville is…” 

“I’m not blind, Harry. So wait...how many times after that first day did you—?”  
  
“Draco!” Harry shouted, throwing a dishcloth at him and laughing.  
  
“I’m just saying...I’m surprised you’ve just...avoided him,” Draco smirked, returning the cloth to the sink.  
  
Harry laughed again and jumped down. “What? Do you think Neville Longbottom is the sort to sleep with someone when they believe they’ve been coerced? Yeah, you really don’t know him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Draco replied, sliding into Harry’s arms. “But still. Five years? That’s a very long time for any magical effect to—”  
  
“First of all, you want to be the one to try and test that? Remember that time I said you were jealous? I wonder how you would feel if you discovered you were _ wrong _about the spores. Drop it Draco. You have your answers now.” 

For the rest of the evening, Draco did drop it. He ignored the conversation going on around him, too, though. By the time they were walking home, Draco dead silent at Harry’s side, Harry had had enough.  
  
“Alright, out with it. Are we fighting? Because of the Neville thing?”  
  
“What? No,” Draco replied, baffled. He really wasn’t angry.  
  
“Well then you don’t believe me,” Harry continued.  
  
“Harry, darling. For one thing, you really just aren’t that creative. If you wanted to lie about sleeping with Neville, there were simpler stories. More importantly, though, Hermione told me you were telling the truth.  
  
Harry huffed. “Fine. What is it, then?”  
  
“I just…” Draco inhaled. Once said, this statement was going to be irreversible. “I think you should check. If the...spore thing is still a thing.”  
  
“Haha, so funny. You’re a hilarious guy, Malfoy.”  
  
“I’m...serious, Harry. You should check. Um. _ We. _ We should check.”  
  
The night was cool and dark, cascading shadows long through the hedgerows. They’d decided to walk to an Apparition point rather than floo, hoping to shake off some of the fuzzy warmth of too much food and drink and good company. Which meant that the moment Harry and Draco’s relationship changed, they were standing under the only streetlamp in Ottery St. Catchpole, staring at each other over dust motes that made Harry shiver even to this day. 

“Draco,” Hary said slowly, turning to him carefully. “Draco, do you mean?”  
  
“I just...it’s just a thought.”  
  
Harry stared at him for what felt like an eternity. “I mean. You’d have to…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He doesn’t talk to me,” Harry replied simply. “You’d have to ask.”  
  
“Think that can be arranged,” Draco replied faintly. 

Harry nodded once, and continued down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

Neville was really quite tired of fall. He had six crates of seeds still to move before the frost and his head was pounding from the hay fever that decided to plague him every year as the leaves began to turn, no matter how many Muggle meds he took or how many potions he tried to create. It was really unfair that the thing he loved most was the thing that made him so miserable for six weeks each year. 

He was holding two crates at once, trying to get done in time for lunch, when the greenhouse door opened. 

“Be right with you,” he called over his shoulder. 

“No rush,” came the unmistakably posh accent he’d been waiting for since the beginning of the year had revealed him sitting at the head tables. Neville chuckled and continued his task. His day was _apparently _about to get much more interesting. 

When he came back to the main room, where the tables were still set up for the Hufflepuff and Slytherin second years, he found Draco Malfoy sitting on the first row of desks, nonchalant and kicking his bloody legs. He looked like a pale, put-together toddler. A small child, that is, if Neville were capable of ignoring the casual ease of his sexiness; he totally understood the appeal Harry found there, though there were still many moments when Neville’s brain short-circuited in trying to work out how that much forgiveness had been found even in _ Harry Potter’s _bones. 

“Professor Malfoy,” he said lightly, wiping his hands on the towel by his desk. “How can I help you?”  
  
Malfoy laughed. “Draco. Please. I owe you at least that much.”  
  
“Sure,” Neville replied with a shrug, his tone clearly stating that he was waiting for the point. 

“It’s been a month. I’m sorry I didn’t come down here sooner. The start of the year is far busier than I anticipated. I’m not a teacher by trade, as I am sure you’ve realised.”  
  
“The students all suggest you’re doing fine.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” Malfoy responded, a genuine smile gracing his delicate features and making him seem far more vulnerable.  
  
“Draco, no offence meant here, but...is there something I can do for you? Only, I’m really busy this weekend. Got to get all the plants under stasis before the frost.”  
  
“Oh, Merlin. Yeah. Sorry. Can I help? Tell me what I can do?”  
  
Neville looked at Draco carefully. He tried to find the hint of blatant teasing, the painful underpinning of bullying he was used to seeing. He looked for the sneer in this man’s features, the ones that had tormented his nightmares for years. He was free of it now, with a good counsellor, some serious self-exploration, a job that he loved...not to mention the quiet pestering of Hermione to make him understand the things he’d done in the war. It didn’t exactly amount to _forgiveness, _but for Harry’s sake, Neville was trying. 

He certainly owed Harry. 

“I know you don’t trust me,” Draco said after a beat, looking at the ground and playing the very convincing role of ‘contrite human’. “I apologise, though it isn’t worth much, I know. That kid that I was? He was an arse. A bastard. A fucking _moron_. I’ve changed. No, that’s not it.” 

Draco jumped down off the table, hands in his back pockets as he turned away from Neville. For his part, Neville felt his head turn, waiting for the punchline; Draco seemed nearly apologetic, but. But. There was something underneath the remorse that was hard to read, and Neville knew that when it happened, he was going to be uncomfortable. At the very least.  
  
“What is it, then?” he asked, the slight hiss behind his words involuntary.

“I haven’t changed. But I have learned. And I _ am _sorry.” Draco shrugged, the simple phrase disarming Neville only slightly. 

“Can...can you help me move the last of these crates?” he replied without preamble. “My head is killing me and I’d love to go into lunch.”  
  
Draco nodded and followed Neville outside. Together, the moved the crates into the storage room. Draco even helped cast the last of the stasis charms. As they finished, they stood in the back room looking at the boxes until finally, Draco cleared his throat. 

“Listen. I...Harry told me the story.”  
  
Neville’s head whipped around so fast that he had to blink as his headache surged.  
  
“Draco, I’m sorry for my role in all that,” he muttered.  
  
Draco chuckled. “Harry thinks you blame him, you think he blames you. Bloody Gryffindors.”  
  
He took a step forward and every muscle in Neville’s body tensed for a moment. Being close to Draco Malfoy had never ended well for him before. Still, he was taller, stronger. He could take it. So he refused to back down. But, far from throwing a punch, Draco reached up and held his hands in front of his face, palms open. He took another step, gently stretching his hands to within a hair’s breadth of Neville’s skin. 

“Hay fever?” he asked quietly. “I get t in the fall too. Annoying, isn’t it? Most people only have to deal with Spring allergies. There’s a pressure point...right there,” he pointed delicately toward Neville’s ear. “May I?” he murmured.  
  
Unsure what was happening, Neville nodded. Draco took one last step, firmly into Neville’s personal space, and gently laid his hands on either side of Neville’s face. He pressed his forefinger into the backs of Neville’s ears, his thumbs rubbing firm circles along his cheeks. Instantly, the pressure receded and Neville relaxed into the massage without even realising. For a few moments, Draco just released the tension in his face. 

“Better?” Draco whispered. Neville nodded, still only partially aware of what he was doing. The actions had been innocent enough, he supposed, but something in the air had shifted. “Good,” Draco replied, taking a step back as he slowly released Neville’s face, his hands very nearly _caressing _him as they left. 

“Harry and I want you to come to dinner with us. At the Hog’s Head. Tonight,” Draco insisted, his tone shifting so subtly that Neville would later be convinced he’d been imagining it. 

“I can’t be near Harry...not like that...not at— wait, the Hog’s Head?”  
  
Draco nodded, taking another step back and smiling a gentle, lascivious grin that dropped to the bottom of Neville’s stomach before he had a chance to stop it. “We don’t want to be interrupted by our other...colleagues.” 

Neville swallowed. Which made Draco chuckle.   
  
“Don’t worry so much, Longbottom. I’ll be there too. I can handle any awkwardness. Between you and my boyfriend.” He turned on his heel and gave a small wave as he walked away. “Go get something to eat. Lots of water. See you at seven,” he called behind him. 

As the door closed behind him, Neville found himself bracing with weak knees against the crates behind him, unsure of what had just happened.

* * *

Walking into the pub at exactly seven made Neville feel like he may, in fact, keel over. The warmth was welcome, of course; Scotland liked its wind and walking down from the castle between October and March was never exactly pleasant. Still, even as he loosened his scarf and unbuttoned his jacket, he felt faint. Something about this evening was making him very nervous. 

He did not feel better when he saw Draco and Harry sat at a table in the middle of the room and immediately realised he was overdressed. 

They sat beside each other in the picture of perfect happiness. Both wore banal smiles, suffused with warmth and comfort. Harry had his hand loosely wrapped around Draco’s, resting haphazardly on the table between them as his mouth moved, telling some sort of story that was making Draco chuckle. He wore a dark blue henley, the top button undone, and his curls ran wild around his face. 

Draco, dressed more casually than Neville had ever seen him dress, wore a dark grey roll neck cardigan. The wool looked soft and warm from here. Neville briefly entertained the daydream of his face buried in Draco’s chest before he remembered who and where he was, and that he was about to be roundly questioned and then berated for his terrible treatment of his former bully’s boyfriend.  
  
This thought helped him stop questioning his choice of button-up and cardigan, though, so he supposed it was for the best. 

He took a deep breath and walked slowly up to the table. 

“Evening, Neville,” Draco said upon seeing him, a slow, creeping smile working it’s way up to his face. On anyone else, it probably would have looked...well, sexy. On Malfoy, at this moment, it just felt dangerous. 

“Harry. Draco.” Neville nodded at both of them, removed his jacket, and sat down before he could change his mind. 

“Harry isn’t ready to speak yet,” Draco explained, gesturing to Harry, whose face was a new, delicate shade of blush that made Neville’s throat constrict. 

“Look,” Neville interjected. “I’m sorry, alright? Is that why I’m here? I’m sorry for the...spores. And the...everything after.”  
  
“Draco,” Harry whined. 

“Neville, Neville, Neville,” Draco murmured with a lascivious chuckle. “Do you really, _ honestly _ believe that you are here for...an _ apology _ ?”  
  
Neville gulped. He — really and honestly — did not believe he was here for an apology. And everything about that reality was starting to sink in. In a painful, pant constricting sort of way. 


End file.
